Chapter 11
Colton
It feels as if I’m submerged in water as I walk Noah’s way, everything around me dampened and hazy, moving slower than it should be.
He looks wary. Maybe. It’s hard to tell.
I hold out my hand, and Noah takes it.
“Congratulations,” I tell him, the word tasting flat and hollow on my tongue.
Lips pressed into a flat line, Noah nods once. If he says anything in response as I turn to go, I don’t hear it.
My family comes over while I’m collecting my things.
“Damn fine effort,” my dad says, slapping me on the shoulder.
I shrug, and my mom gives me a hug. “You did good.”
Did I, though? Not good enough, apparently.
I mutter a response, and my mom lets me go. There are more words—conciliatory and kind—but they don’t feel like much of anything, passing me by like smoke.
Noah is standing next to the man I recognize as his uncle, smiling. My breath stutters in my lungs at the sight.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen that smile before now.
My movements feel stiff as I pick up my bag. Someone tails me—Remi, I think—as I head over to the judges to see if they need help disassembling anything. They assure me it’s all taken care of, and when I look back, I realize that’s the case. The horses are already back in their trailer, the temporary setup for the Shoein’ being taken apart as I watch.
I field a few more half-hearted comments from townsfolk as I head toward my truck. It’s blessedly silent once I shut myself inside. Remi rides with me, quiet on our way back to the ranch. He keeps looking over, but my gaze is locked out the window.
When I park in front of the ranch house, I fully intend to head up to my room to sulk, but Remi snags my arm before I can.
“Come on,” he says, tugging me in the direction of Jackson’s house.
I sigh but follow along.
Jackson and Ash are already home when we arrive. The bonfire out back flickers to life, a tiny orange flame working through the wood in the pit as Jackson stokes it. It’s not dark yet, but it doesn’t matter.
I slump into an Adirondack chair, and a minute later, Ash passes me a whiskey tin.
“Thanks,” I mutter, taking a sip. The liquor burns, and I welcome it.
“Doing all right?” Jackson asks, settling into his chair across the fire. Ash follows him, all but sitting on my brother’s lap. Lawson is seated and silent to my right, his feet crossed at his ankles. Remi is a pretzel in the chair to my left.
“Fine,” I mumble.
“You did real good,” Remi says, to which the others nod or murmur their agreement.
“I lost.”
“Barely,” Lawson puts in.
“I feel like an idiot,” I admit, sucking in a breath. “I was so sure I was gonna win. So sure.”
“It doesn’t make you any less of a farrier,” Jackson says. “No one’s gonna think that.”
I shake my head. “It’s not even…”
It’s not even about that, is it? Not really. I know I’m a good farrier. I’m damn fucking good at my job.
It was just about— fuck . Getting one over on Noah King for once? Proving to him I’m worth more than whatever it is he sees when he looks at me?
“Folks had fun today, Colt,” Lawson says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “They loved watching you and Noah compete. You should be proud of what you accomplished.”
My chest burns, and I can’t even chalk it up to the whiskey. “I don’t feel proud.”
There’s a long silence that follows my words, the fire crackling.
When Ash slaps the tops of his thigh, I nearly jump. “All right,” he says, all chipper. “How about that Noah fucking King?”
Jackson snorts, and I huff my own laugh, unable to help it.
“The worst,” Remi says, his lips twitching.
“Seems pretty surly,” Jackson puts in.
“Really?” Ash asks, looking back at him. “This coming from you?”
Jackson scowls, and Ash laughs, reaching up to pull my brother down into a quick kiss. It’s so cute I want to fling myself into the fire.
“You know I like you that way,” Ash replies, patting Jackson’s cheek.
“Oh God,” I groan. “It’s end days, isn’t it? Jackson is smiling, and Noah fucking King is beating me at my own game. What’s next? Fire raining from the sky? Lawson getting laid again?”
“Wait, what?” my oldest brother says, a frown on his face.
“You probably would’ve won if it weren’t for that polish,” Remi says, my most favorite person ever.
“See? Yes,” I cry, sitting forward in my seat. “I would’ve. Because I’m a damn expert at my craft. And Noah King is…is sneaky . And I don’t like him. And what the fuck is up with that last name? King? As if. The man doesn’t deserve a crown, and there ain’t no way I’ll ever kneel before him.”
I sit back with a huff, my skin feeling hot, adrenaline coursing through me. I prefer it to the numbness I felt before at hearing Noah declared the winner of the Shoein’. I’d rather be pissed at the guy than sad for myself.
Being pissed is easier.
“Um,” Remi starts, “why would you be kneel—”
“Boys,” our mom calls, startling all of us. She strides toward the bonfire, a few foil-covered plates stacked in her hands. Our dad pops into view next, even more plates balanced in his arms. “I knew I’d find y’all out here. Since apparently my sons , all of whom are grown-ass men and should know better, decided the smart course of action would be to get into the damned whiskey before filling their stomachs with dinner. Come on now—take a plate. And a thank-you would be nice for walking all this way.”
“It’s five minutes down the road,” Jackson mutters under his breath.
Our mom passes the plate she was about to hand to Jackson over to Ash and then walks the next one to Remi.
“Oh, c’mon now,” Jackson grumbles.
“Here you go,” my dad says, handing me a plate from his pile. “So what are we doing? Stewing or cheering up?”
A slow smile spreads across my face as my parents join us in front of the fire. We eat our dinner with our fingers, seeing as they didn’t bother bringing forks. No one seems to mind. The sky slowly turns dark as we exchange stories and the occasional attempt is made at making me feel better. It doesn’t work. Not fully. But I’m ever so grateful for my family for trying.
It’s late when Remi, Lawson, and I head back to the ranch house, my parents having left long ago. Lawson ruffles my hair like I’m still a kid before heading to his room, but Remi doesn’t go quite so quickly. He follows after me, peering at me in that way he does. He’s always been able to read me better than most.
“Will you be okay?” he asks. I appreciate that he understands, right now, I’m not.
I nod. “It was just a stupid competition.”
He raises an eyebrow. “We both know it wasn’t stupid. Not to you.”
I let out a sigh and plunk down on the corner of my bed, my hands feeling heavy as I lift them to speak for me. It feels easier, somehow, to air my feelings in silence. ‘I can’t stand the guy, Remi. He’s always made me feel like I’m not good enough. Like he doesn’t think I’m good enough. Why? What did I ever do to him?’
‘You mean other than compete with the man for the same business for the past fifteen years?’
Remi’s expression is full of sass, but I hold his gaze. ‘The first time I met the guy, he barely gave me the time of day. He couldn’t have made it clearer he thought I was gum under his shoe.’
‘I don’t know then.’ My brother huffs as he joins me at the edge of the bed. ‘Not everyone gets along.’
‘I know that. I just wish…’
I don’t finish my sentence, and Remi’s softly spoken, “Hey,” pulls my gaze. He pats my chest before his hands move slowly and assuredly. ‘I know your heart inside and out. If Noah can’t see it, that’s on him. Not you.’
I’m embarrassed to feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I blink rapidly to dispel them. “Yeah,” I say, all I can manage.
Remi lets out a soft sigh before giving me a hug. When he goes, I walk to my window, looking out over our land and the cows resting in the dairy field under the light of the moon.
Noah fucking King.
Why can’t I get over the guy?
I try to go to sleep. I do. But all I succeed in is tossing and turning, my thoughts a whirlwind that won’t settle. With a huff, I swing my feet out of bed and grab my phone.
It takes a few texts to folks around town to find out Noah’s address. I shove my clothes back on, step into my boots, and head out the door.
I don’t know what I’m doing. Not really. Have no clue what I hope to accomplish.
I just can’t get past this day without some sort of… closure . I’m sure, deep in my gut, if I confront Noah, I’ll feel better. Somehow. Some way.
I follow my GPS to his place, a house set back from the road with privacy on both sides. It’s quiet when I turn off my truck, and I sit in the driver’s seat for a minute, looking at the darkened house, second-guessing my being here. What if I wake Noah’s uncle instead of him?
But then I see a flicker of light coming from a barn set out back behind the house and open my door.
No backing out now.
A clang rings out as I walk across the grass toward the barn. It’s open, light spilling out from inside. I take a deep breath before rounding the corner.
And then I stop still.
The barn is filled with metal sculptures. Art . A western saddle sits on a narrow wooden pedestal, every inch of it crafted from various kinds and colors of metal, every detail precise. There’s a horse head, the eyes eerily lifelike, the mane flowing like waves over the side of its neck. Smaller pieces sit along tables. A bird with a seed in its mouth. A bundle of flowers. What looks like triangles perched precariously one over top of the other.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, taking it all in.
Noah whips around, practically jumping a foot in the air. “Colton?” he says in shock. “The hell are you doing here?”
His tone isn’t welcoming. If anything, there’s an edge of threat to it I should probably heed.
Instead, I step further into the barn and wave my hand through the air. “What is this?”
Noah doesn’t answer me. He turns back around, shutting off his forge before tugging his gloves off one at the time. The man is wearing a t-shirt, a fine layer of sweat covering his skin from the heat of the fire. He swipes his hair back and all but slaps his gloves onto the table in front of me. “Get the fuck out.”
“Did you… make these? Holy shit, Noah, I—”
“Did you hear what I said?” he cuts in. “You’re not welcome here, little Colt.”
I suck in a breath, tension ratcheting my shoulders tight. “ Jesus , why do you gotta be such a dick? I just…”
“You just what?” he asks, coming around the table toward me.
I hold my ground, even as I feel the urge to fight or flee pulling at my skin. “You know what? I just came here to talk. To settle some things. But you’re being all…” Struggling for the right word, I indicate the man before me. “ You. ”
“I thought we already settled things,” he says coolly, crossing his sizable arms. “Isn’t that what today was about?”
I bristle, the reminder of my loss far too fresh a wound to brush off. “You know what? Fuck you.”
Noah shakes his head, looking upward. “My God . Thank you so much for coming into my home and telling me to fuck off. So glad you’re here. You can be going now.”
“That’s not why…” I let out a snarl of frustration, taking a step closer, my very bones feeling as if they’re rattling. “Can you just…”
“Just what, Colt? What do you want from me?”
I don’t fucking know .
“If this is about the tattoo, I’m not going to make you—”
“It’s not about the tattoo,” I all but yell. “It’s you . It’s always fucking you.”
To my surprise, my hand makes contact with the man’s chest, shoving him back a step. His eyes darken, body tensing.
“Colt,” he says in warning.
“I want to know why you’re stuck in my head. In my life,” I growl, shoving the man again. “I want—”
Noah grabs my arm and spins me bodily into his workbench. I scramble to grab ahold of it, catching my weight, the wooden edge digging into my ass as Noah’s hand grips the front of my throat. He wedges his knee between my legs and drives it upwards, forcing me harder against the table.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says, voice dangerously low, his eyes dark in the limited light of the barn. “What do you want from me, Colt?”
I pull in a shuddering breath, and Noah stills, his attention snapping downwards as—to my utter and profound mortification—my dick starts to swell.
Oh, fuck. Holy fuck.